where we're from
by FrostedFire
Summary: Tales from the witches who were married into the Blacks.
1. Druella Rosier

**Author's Note:** Written for 'Lineage Studies' - Druella Rosier. Word count: 630. Not everyone is going to be so reluctant to be married into the Blacks, don't worry friends.

* * *

She stood in front of her mirror, arms crossed and a serious look powdered upon her cheeks. "I don't believe I want to get married," she murmured, staring at the ornate mirror in front of her. In the reflection her eyes widened, slightly, when the larger shape of her brother appeared.

"I can't see how that's my fault," he replied, arching a brow.

Mean. That was how she would describe her family; her brother, her sisters, her mother and father. Mean.

But the Rosier fortune wasn't built on being nice to people, it was built on making connections, collecting debts, perfecting curses… It was generally ruined, of course, by how many girls the family seemed to produce.

Four women, one man. That was her generation, that was her mark on the world. Four women that were supposed to be married off, four dowries that had to be paid, four girls that were going to come out to society and try to be as fine and dainty as any other witch in the room.

"It's not, Edmund," she said, craning her neck. The mirror showed a waif swathed in white, her veil drifting down her back and lifted up by magic. Tiny crystals were sewn into her robes, little flowers settled besides. "I just… I don't know what I want. I want to go home."

She looked at her brother, then, flipping away from the mirror. He was statuesque among them all, he was large and looming in a way that she wasn't, in a way that she could never be. He was stone-faced and angry, his heavy-lidded eyes just a shade darker than hers. "Nobody did ask what you wanted, Druella. But you are home. Your new home."

She supposed that she was doing them all a favor, getting married to a man who wasn't quite repulsive. She supposed that she was doing them all a favor by marrying someone without much complaint. She supposed, she supposed, she supposed.

Cygnus Black. She had bagged a Black, as they would say. She had won him over at a ball, he had submitted a request to meet through her parents, and nearly half of an hour later they had decided to make it an official engagement.

That was nearly a year ago, but she still wasn't quite sure that she loved him.

Druella wasn't quite sure that she loved anyone.

She liked herself. She tolerated her sisters. She hated her parents. She detested Edmund.

Hatred and love were on the same coin, but she _hated_ Edmund.

She felt nothing for her husband-to-be ( _ten minutes and counting_ ). She felt no deep, brewing emotion. If anything it was another boring day, but instead of going home and dropping into bed she was going to be wedded.

Druella knew that it was important, she knew that it was something she was going to need to focus on, more, but... She really didn't care. Her eyes were glazed over, she fidgeted as she looked at herself in the mirror, focusing on lightly painted lips and carefully coiffed hair.

Rough hands tightened on her upper arm- she hadn't even realized that he wasn't moving farther away. His grip tightened until Druella was sure that she was going to find bruises there, later, bruises she would have to explain to Cygnus. "Let go, Edmund."

"You will _not_ embarrass this family, Druella," he hissed fingers pressing far too hard into her light skin. "You will marry Cygnus, you will have his sons, and you will do right by your name."

Of course she would marry Cygnus. She was a biddable daughter, a sweet sister.

But she wasn't having him any sons.


	2. Ella Max

**Author's Note:** Halloween Bingo (web of lies). This week's installment - Ella Max. Who we know like, three things about.

* * *

She didn't realize that she would start such a fantastic naming tradition, that hadn't been something she was worried about when she got married. For Ella it had been about her husband, about joining into a family that loved and cherished her.

Her father had loved her, of course, she was aware of that. But he found it far harder to love his children, seeing as their mother had passed away in childbirth. That happened, though; it was 1780 when her mother passed on. It wasn't as shocking as it might have been, but her father had taken it terribly. Their house elves and the nanny took care of them as her father slipped into his study to focus on Ministry details.

His love was absent, vague. He would buy her and her brother lovely things, ribbons and swords, but he could barely look at them for more than ten minutes. Ella knew it was because of them, she knew that he could barely look at her and Sampson without feeling the emptiness in his heart.

So her childhood was cold, filled with empty gazes and icy hands. She and Sampson were often alone in the large manor, left to the nannies until school was to start.

Hogwarts was similar, or felt like it. She had friends, of course, sweet girls who curled her hair and offered assistance with ridding herself of her dark freckles. All of them were already engaged- or their parents were looking- and from her third year it seemed like they were attempting to impress the boys with emotionless smiles and pretended giggles. Ella hated it, it made her feel empty. What was the point in showing off to boys that didn't really seem to care?

She didn't quite understand it and neither did Sampson, so she stuck to her brother and his friends when she could. It was improper unless he was with her, of course. She needed a chaperone around any of the other boys, which was fine with her; some of the boys were a bit frightening.

Cygnus wasn't, though. Cygnus was kind and smart and brave, a Slytherin far nicer than the rest. He sat with her and Sampson in the library, he passed her silly notes during History of Magic.

Cygnus received genuine smiles and sweet words, and in return he gave her violets and chrysanthemums. It felt like the first bout of genuine adoration, the first ribbons of a love running true. The rest of the Ravenclaws seemed offended, offering compliments in a way that seemed twice-barbed and hissed.

"Slytherin boys speak from a web of lies," Celeste Crouch informed her, shaking her head. "He will most certainly hurt you in the end."

She repeated the words to Cygnus with a bowed head, her fingers shaking. The others girls knew more about society, they had been raised with mothers who informed them what was what.

"I will never hurt you," he told her, lips pressing against her forehead.

"I will never leave you," he said, putting a ring on her finger.

"I will always care for you," he murmured when their eldest son passed away.

That was the type of love that she had wanted at the start.


End file.
